A Setting Sun
by Sapphira Rayes
Summary: As Mary's seventeenth birthday looms, Archie considers sending his niece to an art school in London, while under Colin's jealous eye, Dickon is trying to ignore his own tangled feelings for the girl he can't have. One shot.


**Title: A Setting Sun**

**Summary: As Mary's seventeenth birthday looms, Archibald considers sending his niece to an art academy in London. Under Colin's jealous eye, Dickon is trying to ignore his own tangled feelings for the girl he can't have. And Mary? What does she want?**

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**Introduction**

"Your drawings are getting better by the day, Mary."

Watching her as she lay on the stretch of the grass by the water fountain, Dickon saw Mary frown at her cousin's comment.

"They are not, Colin," she replied bluntly, gazing at her work in frustration. "I just can't seem to get anything quite right," she added broodingly, more to herself than anyone else.

"You are such a perfectionist, Mary," was Colin's exasperated answer. "Your paintings are beautiful."

The tone of his voice ignited Mary's old contrary spirit. "My flowers don't look alive, Colin," she snapped irritably. "And the water looks like a lake, not a stream."

Colin rolled his eyes and remained silent. Perhaps he realised that there would be no point in continuing to argue with her. Dickon noted, however, that he had seemed silent and preoccupied as of late. Colin had begun to spend much more time alone or alone with Mary, almost as though he was trying to avoid Dickon's company altogether. With a pang of some painful foreign emotion, Dickon gazed at the sixteen year old girl lying a few feet away from him.

It was evident that Mary really had grown into a beautiful young woman. The sunlight and the surrounding magic of the garden made her seem almost ethereal - in Dickon's mind at least. Her yellow hair spilled in loose curls onto the grass, the elegance of the soft waves mocking her unruly ways. Gently highlighted by the acme of the afternoon sunrays, the tip of her nose and the coral shades of her cheeks glowed, and her eyes were alight with a love for her subject: her garden.

Suddenly realising he had stopped working, Dickon hastily bent down to finish planting the new lilies. It was foolish, he reminded himself, to spend so much time thinking of Mary when it was so obvious he was only a childhood friend to her. He sighed discontentedly and patted the fresh earth over the roots of the newly planted flower. It would be something new for Mary to draw tomorrow.

"Father wants you to have proper lessons, you know, Mary," Colin remarked suddenly from the edge of the stream. "He thinks you have a talent in the making."

"I know," was Mary's rather dour answer.

"Why won't you take them?"

"I don't want another governess," Mary replied decidedly. "I would much rather spend my time in the garden with… well, with you both. In my opinion, a woman does not need to learn how to drink from a teacup to become a lady."

Colin chuckled. "Of course, she doesn't," he said with a hint of good-natured sarcasm.

"Don't patronise me, Colin. I'm busy."

Dickon smiled to himself at Mary's answer. At nearly seventeen, she was still as contrary as ever.

"Dickon, what do you think of this?" Mary asked suddenly, turning to face him.

Feeling his heart quicken a little, Dickon dropped his trowel and approached the work and its creator.

"What part, Miss Mary?"

"The whole thing," she replied, slightly agitatedly. "Do you think it works as a composition? Have I really captured the garden's character? You see, I don't think I have."

"No need to ask _me_ for _my _opinion," said Colin from the same corner of the garden. His voice sounded sour; he obviously resented not being put first.

Dickon, however felt a surge of pride. It was _his _opinion that Mary had asked for, even over Colin's. It was _his _judgment that she valued, histhat she wanted.

"I don't know how thy drawin' is a 'composition'," he answered honestly. "But it's got the magic o' the garden, Miss Mary."

She beamed at him, evidently revelling in his praise. Her cheeks brightened to a rosier shade of pink and she glanced down quickly. Dickon looked at her for a moment longer before a small smile touched the expression of his lips, and he too looked away.

"Don't _you_ think Mary should have lessons, Dickon?" Colin's voice sounded slightly artificial and almost, Dickon thought, tinged with jealousy.

"Only if tha' is what Miss Mary wants," Dickon said carefully without looking at Colin.

"I _don't _want them."

"Why not, though, Mary? You could spend a few months in London in a top school or something and then when you came back, you could be a marvel of an artist."

"Why would I want to go to London? I have Misselthwaite."

"Oh, the best of everything is in London. I could have spent my whole life there when I visited last year."

Dickon quietly began to pack his gardening tools away. The great schools in London were so far out of his reach. He was just a poor moor boy - Colin and Mary were both from the nobility. The divide between them had never seemed to matter much when they children, but now they had all grown into young adults, Dickon felt it more than ever. Colin would soon be studying at university and after Mary's disastrous governess earlier in the year, it was inevitable that she would be sent somewhere to become a 'proper lady'. The company of a poor cottager's son, after all, would hardly be seen as refined society.

"Are you going home already, Dickon?"

He nodded in return, smiling at her disappointed look. "Tha will see me again tomorrow."

She smiled back at him. "Tomorrow."

They retained each other's for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Colin cleared his throat. "Good evening then, Dickon."

"And to thee, Colin."

He left then, through the ivy-covered door they had all come to know so well. Just as he was couple of feet down then path home, he heard Mary hiss,

"You are so rude!"

"What do you mean? I only wished him good evening!"

"You sounded like you were trying to get rid of him!"

Dickon chuckled and continued the walk home. He thought of Mary with a silent longing as he heard her persisting her argument with Colin. She was the niece of Lord Craven. She was his childhood friend. There were so many reasons why he should not be feeling as he was.

And yet, he realised, as his cottage danced into view, he just couldn't help himself.

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**A/N: Well, my first 'Secret Garden' story! This was originally going to be just a one shot, but I think it would work better as a proper story. Review to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading,**

**Love, Sapphira.**


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